May All Your New Year Dreams Come True
by Night of the Living Monkey
Summary: All the Scarecrow wants for Christmas is to be left alone to plot. All the Mad Hatter wants is a friend. And maybe to be a little bit taller.


It's that time of year again. Or, if for some reason you've stumbled across this fic at a later date, it's _not_ that time of year, but Santa Claus is watching your ass anyone, so it doesn't matter. Either way, thanks for reading!

It's the 21st century and there's mild slash in this fic.

* * *

Jonathan Crane, to his immense pleasure, found himself alone at Christmas. He'd had the good sense to keep his head down and avoid any major schemes, to leave the carnage, weirdness, and inevitable Bat-punches to his fellow rogues, and now he got to reap the rewards. No competition, no mandatory Harley Quinn holiday parties, nothing except the chance to work in peace and quiet.

And he had a lot of work to do.

Just as soon as he had a cup or six of coffee.

Crane rose from the stool he'd been perched on for the last hour and stretched, feeling his back and joints creak and pop. Maybe it was time to invest in a better chair. Or at least a decent cushion.

"You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk."

Crane leaped back like a startled cat. "What in the Seven Hells?!"

Standing in the doorway, the ever perfect lurker, was the Mad Hatter. He was wearing an overcoat at least three sizes too large over his Arkham uniform, and a towering tophat that only served to emphasize his short stature. There was a dusting of snow on his shoulders and the brim of his hat, which lead Crane to believe his tiny intruder hadn't been wrecking up the place for very long.

"I am far too busy to entertain a fugitive. Leave through whatever window you crawled in through," Crane ordered.

Jervis removed his absurd hat and shook the snow off it. "I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt."

"I don't care that it's snowing. I have to perfect a flavorless, colorless, odorless fear toxin by New Years and you are an irritant and a distraction."

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" Jervis asked.

Crane rolled his eyes. "A homeless shelter, a ditch, a dumpster fire under a bridge. I couldn't care less, so long as you _go_."

Instead of heading for the door—or the window—Jervis plopped his hat back on his head and advanced into the room. He looked around at the scientific equipment Crane had bubbling away. He approached a table covered in beakers, flasks, and other assorted glassware.

"No, you china-shop bull!"

"Curious and curiouser!" Jervis said, tilting his head as he examined a Bunsen burner.

"Go ahead and self-immolate, see if I care." Then Crane glanced around his lab and had seconds thoughts. Not for Tetch's safety, but for his own. An uncontrolled blaze, all those chemicals... Crane slapped the Hatter's overly-adventurous hand and, with a pointing finger, banished him from the dangerous equipment.

"I will say it exactly once more. This is no place for you. If you don't burn us both alive, you will no doubt bring the police or Bat down upon me. I don't have time for that!"

Jervis clutched his wrist as though Crane had whacked it with a lead pipe. "The sea was wet as wet could be!"

Crane rolled his eyes. "Why don't you try acting like the genius you are instead of a child scolded for playing with matches? You have an incredible mind I might actually be able to use—and stand the company of—should you ever rediscover it. Until you crawl out of Wonderland, however, you are somewhere between a nuisance and a menace."

The pout on the Hatter's face deepened. "It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."

"Then go find someone who appreciates the new you. I'm sure Harley Quinn and her degenerate boyfriend would be more than happy to let you touch chemicals and explosives to your heart's content. If you want slightly more intellectual company, I understand Killer Moth managed to escape from the Girl Scout troop assigned to capture him. He needs a friend. I don't."

"I don't want to go among mad people," Jervis whined.

Unable to help himself, Crane replied, "We're all mad here."

Jervis beamed, a stranger in a strange land who finally found someone who spoke his language. "I'm mad. You're mad."

"Yes, but my mad is more 'angry', while yours is more 'kidnap blonde women and mind-control them using silly hats so you're not alone.' Your mad is exacerbating my mad, so allow me to show you the door. Have a pleasant Christmas. Don't do anything ostentatious until you're out of my neighborhood."

Crane placed a firm, spindle-fingered hand between Jervis's shoulder blades and shoved. Jervis tried to dig his heels into the floor, but the combination of his wet boots and Crane's hand being half as long as Jervis's whole body propelled him where Crane guided.

"My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place!" Jervis protested.

"You're going to have to run even faster than that, because you. Are. Leaving!" Crane, still holding Jervis with one hand, used his free hand to wrangle with the door's two locks. The locks wouldn't do beans against Batman, who could kick his way in with more force than a bunker buster, but they deterred generic neighborhood scum. After a bit of finagling, Crane managed to release both locks and throw the door open.

The moment the door was open, a blizzard swirled into the room. Icy wind stabbed through Crane's shirt like the fabric was no more than tissue paper. Snow obscured anything past the end of the block.

"Where's global warming when you need it?" Crane muttered.

Jervis shivered and pulled his voluminous coat closer. "I wish I hadn't cried so much. I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears!"

Crane debated his options for about five seconds before he slammed the door. He steered Jervis away from the threshold and toward the center of the room. Once the Hatter was as far removed from Crane's lab supplies as possible, Crane hustled over, grabbed his stool, and slapped it down beside Jervis.

"If you're going to stay and avoid frostbite, I am laying down a few immutable rules. First, you are not to move from this spot. Second, you are not to make a peep. Third, the moment you disregard either of the first two rules, you are going into the snow. Am I clear?"

Jervis clapped a hand over his mouth and nodded.

"Excellent. Now sit."

The Hatter did as bidden. Once he was seated, Crane went in search of another chair. The apartment was large, much bigger than anything Crane was usually able to get his hands on, and mostly furnished. The only reason Crane had such nice accommodations was because, just a few doors down, the rest of the building was in shambles. Killer Croc or Solomon Grundy or some other large, angry thing had exhibited why Gotham couldn't have nice things.

Crane found an office chair in a neighboring room. It looked like it had excellent lumbar support. Crane had to stop settling for the first crap chair he saw or he was going to wind up with lumbago.

Now that his spine could stay aligned and his ass could stay off the cold floor, Crane returned to his work. He was pleased to find Tetch still on the stool and behaving himself. Crane wheeled the office chair past the Hatter and to the table where he'd set up his notebook and several flutes of cheap champagne. One of the flutes had turned an alarming shade of green no sane human would touch their lips to.

"That won't do," Crane said. He picked up the pen lying atop his notebook and drew a line through the fear toxin formula correlating to the green champagne. Under normal conditions, acid green was a fine color for his concoction. The venomous shade served as an hors d'oeuvre, a hint of the fear to come to his test subjects. It wouldn't do for his New Year's surprise, however, unless all of Gotham opted for absinthe instead of champagne.

Crane scribbled a few more notes and then prepared to test the next possible formula. He rose from his delightfully comfortable chair and walked over to an adjacent table, this one well-stocked with stoppered, numbered test tubes. He selected one and returned to his seat.

"Formula seven," Crane said to himself. He uncorked the tube and-

A protracted squeak almost like someone dragging a wet finger down a window pane brought Crane's experiment to a screeching halt. He recoiled from the sudden noise, nearly upended the toxin, and barely avoided a disaster.

"What was that?" Crane demanded. He secured the test tube and rounded on Jervis.

Tetch had moved roughly six inches closer to Crane by scooting the stool across the floor. He had somehow thought it would be a soundless operation, and actually looked surprised he'd made enough noise to wake the dead.

"Did you forget the first rule?" Crane asked. "That is moving!"

Jervis shook his head frantically and pointed down at the stool. Crane glared. "I revoke rule two for the moment. Speak!"

"No, no! Contrawise, if it was so, it might be, and if it were so, it would be," Jervis explained.

"Are you claiming you _didn't_ move the chair? There are skid marks on the floor! Ugh, why am I wasting time arguing my case. This isn't _Judge Judy_. This is my home, you've far over-stayed your welcome, and-"

"It's very rude of him to come and spoil the fun," Jervis interrupted.

Crane stared down at the shorter man, incredulous. "Did you accuse me of rudeness? Have I ever, once in my life, broken into your hideout and intruded on your plans? Have I foisted myself upon you while you were lusting over your precious Alice and-"

Jervis rocked the chair forward, producing another screech of wood-on-wood and encroached another half a foot on Crane. Before Crane could ask him what he thought he was doing, the Hatter proceeded to scoot across the floor via the same motion. The image of a dog dragging its ass across the carpet arose in Crane's mind, much to his horror.

Three more scoots closed the distance between Crane and Tetch. Crane glared down at the Hatter. The Hatter countered the glare with a grin.

"I can pick you and that stool up and dump you both outside," Crane said.

"Well, I never heard it before, but it sounds uncommon nonsense," the Hatter replied placidly.

"Oh really? What are you going to do about it, bite my ankles?"

In response, Jervis clambered atop the stool. Even with the height boost, he still couldn't quite see eye-to-eye with the Scarecrow.

"You're more of an elf than a hatter. Shame nobody uses phone books anymore. A few more of them and you might be able to-"

Jervis stood on his tiptoes, reached up, and grabbed the back of Crane's head.

"Wha-"

"Merry Christmas, Jonathan."

If Tetch only spoke one sentence of sane English all night, Crane supposed he was content with that. Though the awkward, neck-bending kiss could have been a little better. Switching out the stool for the superior office chair fixed that issue for the second go.

* * *

Happy holidays, folks.

Author's Notes:

The title comes from the Christmas song "The Christmas Waltz."

Most (damn near all) of Jervis' lines come from the assorted works of Lewis Carroll.

The Seven Hells are realms of damnation from the _Game of Thrones_ universe.

A bunker buster is a powerful bomb designed to wreck up underground bunkers and reinforced structures.

 _Judge Judy_ is a court show in which a judge named Judy officiates over small-claims cases and usually gets ornery with the defendant, plaintiff, or both.


End file.
